The Art of Hatred
by UniquenessInAbundance
Summary: Draco Malfoy is a wizard and a vengeful vampire slayer. Harry Potter has survived his attack and now has a plan to kill the wizard and reclaim his position. However, how can things ever go according to plan when a love potion is involved? And what role does Voldemort play in this comedy of errors? Vampire!Harry. Slash H/D. Mostly AU with a splash of the familiar magic thrown in.
1. Prolouge

**Author's Note:**

**Main Pairing: **Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

**Side-Pairings: **Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger; More shall be displayed as the fic continues.

**Brief Summary: **Draco Malfoy is a vampire slayer. His sole purpose in life is to kill as many vampires as he can. Since wizard's blood is poisonous to vampires; he has been rather successful. His most recent hunt has eliminated several of the foul creatures; including their leader... or so he thinks. The vampire house leader, Harry Potter, was somehow able to survive and is now stronger than ever. Harry is now out for revenge. He will stop at nothing to kill the grey eyed wizard that almost destroyed him.

**Warnings: **M/M sex, mild violence and wizard bashing.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to David Heyman. The original characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story. Any similarity with any person/people is simply coincidental.

* * *

PROLOGUE:

Two months ago, a slayer killed Harry Potter. Not just any slayer but a vigilante wizard with death in his expressionless grey eyes. As if acid, his blood ate into Harry's flesh. Felled in an instant, Harry had gasped for breath and could not find it.

His heart had stopped beating.

A vampire isn't supposed to survive the Dark Mark—that's what vampires call a wizard's blood—but, after being hit, Harry had collapsed onto the body of one of his dying cohorts. An Irish man named Seamus Finnegan. Crazed by the active decimation of his body, he'd drunk from his friend, racing to take the blood before death's release of the mortal soul made it useless.

The blood had served to restart Harry's heart. Painfully and slowly.

He wasn't sure how he'd made it home or how he'd been able to stop the caustic effects of the Dark Mark. And it didn't matter anymore. Harry had survived.

He was now a vampire phoenix, risen from ash and blood.

But his injuries had forced him into seclusion for a wizard wound proved a stubborn heal. He still bore scars from his fight with his executioner; the most interesting of which was the one on his forehead, in the shape of a lightning bolt. Harry hated that scar with a passion.

Before being transformed into a vampire, Harry had been a surgeon; a man who had witnessed many people survive incredible odds to recuperate and heal. But yes, sometimes they also died. Experiencing recovery for himself had changed him.

It had fixed a lust for vengeance into the scarred sinews of Harry Potter's soul. A lust so deep that it could only be satisfied with the ultimate punishment.

Death.

He, a man who had always striven for peace, now desired a bloody revenge.

Harry had argued with himself a lot during the time he was convalescing. A compliant man; he had tried to mold his morals with his new-found streak of revenge. After all, Harry could not just stand back and do nothing when he knew the slayer yet stalked the shadows in search of more vampires to make into ash.

Not to mention, Summer solstice arrived in two weeks. That night, Harry planned to return to his home. Hogwarts. Yet he could not do that until the anger that had brewed within him for two months was settled.

Before the attack, Harry had led his house and served them well for twenty years. Everyone would be wary, which was only natural as everyone supposed Harry to be dead. But no-one would dare question his authority. After all, Harry was powerful now. He possessed immunity now. He had survived the effects of the Dark Mark and the wizards could not harm him again.

So, he would be invaluable. He would fight for his house and his friends and destroy the enemy. However, only one thing could tip the scales and return his mind to the peaceful resolve needed to lead properly.

Tonight, he would kill the slayer.

Tonight he would kill Draco Malfoy.

* * *

**Additional Author's Note:**

I know this is a pretty over-abused plot-line that I am using. However, I hope that you would like my writing and bear with it. Since this is my first time writing slash, even though my OTP is Drarry, I am naturally a bit nervous. Reviews would be appreciated and even answered, if I get the time.

This is also an assurance that this fic shall not be discontinued; no matter whatever the circumstances.

And so the story begins...


	2. A single act fuels a thousand hates

**Author's Note:**

**Main Pairing: **Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

**Side-Pairings: **Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnegan (Decreased); More shall be displayed as the fic continues.

**Brief Summary: **Draco Malfoy is a vampire slayer. His sole purpose in life is to kill as many vampires as he can. Since wizard's blood is poisonous to vampires; he has been rather successful. His most recent hunt has eliminated several of the foul creatures; including their leader... or so he thinks. The vampire house leader, Harry Potter, was somehow able to survive and is now stronger than ever. Harry is now out for revenge. He will stop at nothing to kill the grey eyed wizard that almost destroyed him.

**Warnings: **M/M sex, mild violence, Wizard bashing and a brief gory battle scene.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to David Heyman. The original characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story. Any similarity with any person/people is simply coincidental.

* * *

CHAPTER 1: The fabric of fate intervenes

_Two months earlier:_

Jamming the syringe into the gel-tipped shotgun cartridge, Draco Malfoy filled the last of a dozen bullets with five milliliters of his blood. He did this every Sunday night.

It was a ritual. He needed rituals. After nearly two centuries of living, rituals kept his life on track and his focus sharp.

He'd been stalking the House Gryffindor for weeks. They laid low and never made a mistake. He attributed that to their leader, Harry Potter, who was known to keep a very tight rein on the House members.

No unnecessary kills—that was their law. A dead vampire was never an unnecessary kill; that was Draco's.

A count over the weeks had determined nearly two dozen in the House. The number of enemies didn't faze Draco. He was a wizard. So long as he kept his back to a wall and his gun loaded; no long tooth was going to mess with him.

The vampire's choice was to either run or take a blood bullet and explode into ash. He preferred the exploding part as opposed to running. But they could run forever; He'd never give up his quest to annihilate every bloody long tooth on this Earth. It was a promise he'd made to his parents on the eve of their gruesome deaths.

Draco checked the sawed-off shotgun for a full load and fitted it into the leather holder strapped across his back. Another belt strapped at his thigh secured a silver dagger, the edged metal soaked in his blood.

He wore leather chaps over tight-fitted black suede pants and a white button-down beneath his leather vest. The shirt was new and Draco felt a brief pang at wasting such an expensive piece of clothing but as always, his urge to look good worn out. Encasing his feet in his custom made Italian loafers, Draco turned towards the huge mirror on the wall.

The first thing he noticed was how tired he looked. It may have something to do with the recurring nightmares waking him up at sudden intervals of the night. His mother's dying voice rang in his mind and the blonde-haired wizard flinched.

Shaking his head to get rid of his suddenly morbid mood, Draco reached back and secured his shoulder-length platinum strands out of the way with a ribbon. His dragon-hide gloves slid on and snapped with a resounding snap.

He was ready.

The only thing that could take him down tonight was reluctance and he knew it wouldn't bother him. For beyond the innate determination that fueled the fire in Draco Malfoy, lived an indelible image of his parents' dying faces. No matter the notches Draco marked on his gun or the plunge toward darkness that occurred when slaying tipped his magical balance, that image would never be erased.

Not once did he question his relentless quest. For if he did, the truth might be harder to face than a house of bloodthirsty vampires.

* * *

Today was the long-awaited meeting between the two breeds. The leader of the vampire clan had been restless the entire morning, wondering how the wolves would react to his demands.

As the sun was setting, Harry's patience was almost at an end. He quickly set out from their warehouse with his battalion of vampires. Once they had reached the meeting grounds, the wolves sent him a messenger stating that there would be no communication-gathering this night. After growling at the quivering envoy, Harry Potter could be seen pacing around his House members. No one dared to interrupt him.

As it was, Harry was seriously pissed off.

The nerve of Fenrir Greyback, the leader of the wolf pack. He had insulted Harry with his blatant disregard for the vampire/wolf relations.

And while he preached peace to his House, Harry would not stand back and watch the wolves creep onto his grounds and begin to terrify those he had sworn to protect.

"We'll snuff him out of his lair." Blaise Zabini, second in command to Harry, suggested; finally breaking the ugly silence. "I'll gather the troops?"

He looked rather excited at the prospect of battle but Harry sighed.

"No. They have shown us their fear. It is enough."

For Harry would not march his men into needless battle when negotiations can bear equal fruit albeit in more time. He would have personally liked nothing better than to strangle Fenrir but the vampire leader knew that would not be beneficial for his house.

He could sense Zabini's tension, the need to react and charge into danger; as it stiffened his cohort next to him. Never would Blaise completely accept the peaceable ways of House Gryffindor but Harry was reassured in knowing that he did try to embrace them. The man had not killed for survival in the three years he'd been with them.

With a whistle, Harry called the nine vampires who had accompanied him and Blaise into a circle in the middle of the dark alley. They would regroup and disperse. Harry hoped there wouldn't be too much dissent against the wolves' behavior.

What Harry hadn't expected, however, was the sudden light blinding them all momentarily.

With a feeling of premonition, he had looked around for a means to escape and realized the bad tactical error in assembling everyone in a tight target.

Too late! He thought. We are doomed to…

The first cry of "Wizard!" froze Harry's blood and jumbled his thought process momentarily. He had thought that it was a betrayal by the wolves.

Two of his cohorts went down in a flash of sizzling flesh and blood. Their cries were unreal, choking screams as their bodies were destroyed by the surprise attack.

It could only be a vigilante wizard, armed with blood bullets—the Dark Mark.

"Bastard," Harry swore and sought the direction of the attack, while calling out to the others. "Retreat!"

Another comrade Lee Jordan—a friend for fifteen years—exploded before Harry. He caught bits of flesh and blood against his palms. So quickly they were taken down. It was not right.

_How to stop it?_

Blaise caught his gaze and nodded. He was on his way out—every vampire for himself and woe to the fool who did not flee.

Harry turned and spied a glint of pale silver in the narrow alley between two brick buildings but it was around fifty strides away. The wizard. He stalked the shadows; sure and relentless.

There were two vampires left standing beside himself. Panicked, they raced toward the approaching menace. Harry let them.

He, meanwhile, caught hold of Seamus Finnegan in his arms. The Irish man had been hit but he would not be reduced to ash like the others; for he was a mortal supplicant to the House, one who sought immortality and wanted to be with his vampire mate Dean Thomas, but first must prove his dedication to the Dark.

Harry dragged his dying body behind a rusted Dumpster.

A bullet shrilled past Harry's head and hit the brick wall right above his shoulder. A glass-tipped bullet that contained wizard's blood.

A scout had once obtained one of the bullets for the House's study but a drop of wizard's blood infused into a vampire's bloodstream, took a manic trip through his body and ate him from the inside out. It proved a quick yet excruciating death.

Something stung his shoulder. Fiery bites ate along his neck and cheek.

Harry dropped Seamus onto the tarmac and slapped at the incredible pain. It sizzled down his torso and up, under and along his left arm; eating into his leather clothing and gnawing at his naked flesh.

"No." Harry croaked mindlessly. He'd been splattered from the bullet that had hit the wall.

Staggering against the unreal pain, the raven-haired vampire dropped to his knees, landing beside Seamus's body.

The Dark Mark sizzled into his torso. His heart pumped furiously as if trying to outrun the inevitable. He slapped at the burning flesh, rolled over it to make it stop but did not cry out.

He was dead to the wizard.

And in a moment of clarity, he knew what had to be done. He needed blood. Lots of it.

Even as his flesh fell away from his bones, Harry ripped into Seamus's throat, drinking his blood and slapping his hands over the mortal's gaping chest wound to coat them in blood. He bathed himself in Seamus's fleeting life but it didn't seem as if he could ever stop the burn.

Listening, keen for the intruder, he realized his own pulse beats ceased.

His heart—

He gripped his chest but felt his insides.

Blood.

Ribs.

Organs.

His vision blurred. Breath stopped.

_Drink or die at the hands of the wizard._

Harry did not even entertain the second option. He couldn't die. There was too much at stake.

He would not die. He thought again, with a fierce conviction.

* * *

**Additional Author's Note:**

The POV's may keep changing. They shall be clearly demarcated in case they do. For those waiting for the romance, a couple more chapters are still left before that boat sails…

Thank you for those Followed/Favorited the story. Reviews would be appreciated and even answered, if I get the time.

And so we know how Harry was reborn…


	3. Author's Note

**Author's Note:**

Firstly, I want to apologize to all the readers who thought this was another chapter. As it is, I wanted to thank everyone who Followed/Favorited my story.

For the reviews:

Author's Tryst: Your review made me laugh. I always thought of Draco as someone who would appreciate taking care of his outer appearances. And don't worry, there is a deeper story on why Draco Malfoy slays vampires the way he does. It has something to do with his parents.

nikitabell: I look forward to write more. Will probably have next chapter up soon.

AS: You should try out other Drarry stories. Some authors are simply amazing. I am glad my story caught your attention.

* * *

This chapter is also to tell you that my friend is starting a new multi-chapter story in her account names 'CuriousityInAbundance'. It's called 'Love is not as simple as 'I do'' and features Edward and Bella. Below is the summary to the story:

_**SUMMARY:**_ _Isabella Swan decides to surprise her fiance' on a reality show with a wedding. But when he jilts her on live TV, a local businessman steps in to marry Bella instead. Edward Cullen thinks the wedding is fake and isn't prepared to learn that he's really married to a stranger. As they wait for an annulment, they play the loving couple... but are they really acting? All Human._

* * *

A large thank you to everyone for making my time here at fanfiction so wonderful. Love you all.


	4. Payback's a hardcore bastard

**Author's Note:**

**Main Pairing: **Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

**Side-Pairings: **Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnegan (Decreased); More shall be displayed as the fic continues.

**Brief Summary: **Draco Malfoy is a vampire slayer. His sole purpose in life is to kill as many vampires as he can. Since wizard's blood is poisonous to vampires; he has been rather successful. His most recent hunt has eliminated several of the foul creatures; including their leader... or so he thinks. The vampire house leader, Harry Potter, was somehow able to survive and is now stronger than ever. Harry is now out for revenge. He will stop at nothing to kill the grey eyed wizard that almost destroyed him.

**Warnings: **M/M sex, mild violence and Wizard bashing.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to David Heyman. The original characters are the property of J.K. Rowling. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story. Any similarity with any person/people is simply coincidental.

* * *

CHAPTER 2: Revenge is the sweetest fruit ever

_Present Day:_

The wizard's name was Draco Malfoy. He rode a big black street chopper with the word Slytherin curved across the gas tank and wore more black leather than Harry did. Lithe but imposing in his costume, which also included visible weaponry that could annihilate a vampire in less than a minute, the wizard walked as if he owned the earth.

He was the only slayer in the region that Harry was aware of. _Not for long._ Harry thought vindictively as he sat motionless on his bed.

Harry had located the wizard's hideout. He lived at the edge of Scotland, about three miles at the top of a castle recently rehabbed for luxury flats. Nice but not half so spendy as his clothes. Every time Harry had seen him, Draco Malfoy had been wearing clothes that practically cascaded over him like a waterfall of a million dollars. For a while, Harry had wondered how could the wizard slay vampire in such a glossy uncomfortable attire.

But as it was, he did not give a fig for the wizard, his flashy clothes or his nasty soul. Let his burn. And then Harry would proudly present the ashes to his men.

He had also been observing, at a distance, the demonic slayer's comings and goings for the past ten days, the first days since his pseudo-death that he'd felt able to leave his home. The vampire killer went out three nights a week on the hunt—Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Harry had not witnessed him execute a kill yet, though.

His own house numbered eleven members, and had claimed Scotland's inner city of Hogwarts as territory against the two rival houses. There were a few independent vampires, not aligned to any house but they were stealthy and kept to the shadows.

Scotland was not a vampire hot spot. This surprised Harry.

The state offered a healthy six months of winter, which meant little sunlight and plenty of dark basements in which to hibernate. And a vampire could regulate his body temperature so the below-freezing weather affected him little.

Scotland was a bloodsucker's haven, if you asked him.

House Gryffindor was small but not stupid. Harry had purposefully kept their location away from New York, Miami or New Orleans; major vampire breeding grounds. The average metropolitan area hosted perhaps a hundred vampire or more.

He had prided himself on leading the most civilized house in the States. While others, such as House Ravenclaw and House Hufflepuff stalked the night, wreaking havoc and creating blood children indiscriminately; House Gryffindor strove to keep their bloodlines peaceful.

No accidental transformations, no witnesses, no mistakes. That had become Harry's personal mantra.

There were a few incidents to be overlooked, though. Hell, they were vampires, not tamed lions. The blood hunger was a powerful thing and could not be ignored or put aside as if it were a habit one could easily break. They, all vampires, were called the Dark. But none in House Gryffindor murdered for anything other than the sake of taking blood to sustain life.

Over the weeks since the wizard's attack, Harry had slowly healed.

Initially, Ronald Weasley, his closest ally and oldest friend, had brought him donors daily. The infusion of warm, mortal blood to his system had been supplemented with a weekly draw from Ron. Vampire blood proved more powerful in the healing process as opposed to mere mortal blood. Flesh had grown over Harry's exposed ribs within three weeks and slowly the charred skin on his arms and torso began to heal.

Now only the skin on his left arm, up along his neck and down his left side to his hip was puckered with pink scarred flesh. It looked abysmal but Harry wasn't concerned with appearance. In fact, he reveled in these scars. They gave him a renewed sense of reprisal each time.

At the sound of the front door sealing shut, Harry sighed and strode out to the living room which looked subdued in the evening light that snuck through the one window Ron had commandeered for an assortment of huge, leafy plants.

After the wizard's attack, Ron had returned to the House with word that their leader was still alive; not only alive but more powerful than ever and that he required time to heal.

A month ago, Ron had moved in with Harry in order to take care of the injured vampire. In spite of Harry's assurances that his mate and Harry's other best friend, Hermione Granger, needed him; Ron had remained adamant. It didn't help that Hermione supported his decision fully.

Ronald Weasley was a good friend and it was with his help that Harry had gained back his strength and planned his revenge on the one who was the reason behind his wounded state.

Even though Harry didn't require twenty-four hour care now, he appreciated the company and was in no hurry to rush Ron out the door.

"Tonight the night?" Ron asked as he tossed the day's paper onto the coffee table and flicked the sunshades open. The electrochromic blackout glass seamlessly changed to clear. "I still think it's too soon for you to be going out on the hunt. You sure about this?"

"Never been more sure of a thing in my life," Harry growled. He punched a fist into his opposite palm, closing his eyes for a moment. A flash of blonde hair and grey eyes materialized in his mind.

Maintaining the anger was part of the plan.

Not that it was difficult but his red-headed freckled friend always played angel-on-the-shoulder to Harry's feral need to get things done; be it by force and fury or by talking through a vexing issue.

A man learned patience in the medical profession and Harry had spent a good number of years doing so but along with his mortality, his patience and empathy had been sluiced away with the blood that fateful night of his transformation.

"It'll close a chapter in your life." Ron agreed though his voice still had an edge of doubt.

"It'll feel damn good." Rubbing a palm up his torso, Harry strode across the room. The scar tissue on his side always drew his attention. It sent out the message "not whole but incapable" to any who might see it.

As he strolled into the kitchen, he punctuated his mood with a slam of his fist to the gray marble counter. He needed the wizard's limp body sprawled before him. That was the only ointment that would completely heal his wounds, both physical and emotional.

In the fridge, he eyed the bottles of wine Ron kept for his evening sacrament.

He sniffed. The corks gave up the rich aroma of eighteenth-century soil steeped with raspberries and limestone and the poignant cry of tiny black grapes plumped to bursting from the sun.

"You pick up the fish oil?"

"In the bag on the counter." Much as blood served his only means for regeneration, Harry believed some natural remedies certainly couldn't hurt.

Flexing his left arm, he eased his palm over the rippled flesh and picked up the wine bottle.

"You know." Ron commented. "You've got an opportunity to steal some of the wizard's magic if you don't do the deed too quickly."

_Right._

Harry was immune to his poisonous blood now. Or should be. A risk he was straining at the leash to take.

And should a vampire manage to drink wizard's blood without harm, the wizard's magic would flow into him. "Bewitched" is what they called the ancient vampires who were once able to enslave a wizard and consume his blood in order to increase their own strength.

Harry had never met any of the ancients, though tales told of half a dozen that yet lived. Some even claimed that their House's mentor Albus Dumbledore was an ancient. Something which had never been proven as the old vampire barely spoke to anyone.

"Any blood magic I gain will simply be a bonus." Harry finally answered as he took a huge dunk of the wine. It tasted awful.

He was a phoenix. And though he'd yet to test his strength, he wondered about the legend that a phoenix was indestructible. He didn't feel it but then again, he was still recovering.

Harry glanced back to his red-haired friend. "The kill is what I'm after and nothing but that."

"Do you know how odd it is to hear such a declaration from you?" Ron asked, completely serious for once.

Harry shrugged. "Yes." For he preached avoidance of any unnecessary fights. "You know this is necessary, Ron. I am doing this for the entire House. One less wizard in this world is one less nuisance for the vampire nation. I'm out of here."

Harry quickly decided, pushing back his hair. He couldn't stand to hear his arguments frizzle out in front of Ron. At least, it wasn't Hermione confronting him. Harry was definitely grateful for that.

"Have a nice evening!" Ron called behind his back.

Harry smirked as he strode for the front door. _Nice?_ He hadn't known so sublime an emotion since before he was turned. The world was not nice. The world demanded… presence.

And tonight Harry Potter intended to return with a vengeance.

* * *

**Additional Author's Note:**

Thank you for those Followed/Favorited the story. Reviews would be appreciated and even answered, if I get the time.

Oooo… The drama begins…


	5. Reading the fine print of the deal

**Author's Note:**

**Main Pairing: **Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

**Side-Pairings: **Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnegan (Decreased); More shall be displayed as the fic continues.

**Brief Summary: **Draco Malfoy is a vampire slayer. His sole purpose in life is to kill as many vampires as he can. Since wizard's blood is poisonous to vampires; he has been rather successful. His most recent hunt has eliminated several of the foul creatures; including their leader... or so he thinks. The vampire house leader, Harry Potter, was somehow able to survive and is now stronger than ever. Harry is now out for revenge. He will stop at nothing to kill the grey eyed wizard that almost destroyed him.

**Warnings: **M/M sex, mild violence and Wizard bashing.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter, in all entirety, belongs to the illustrious J.K. Rowling. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story. Any similarity with any person/people is simply coincidental.

* * *

CHAPTER 3: Power is too much trouble

Making a deal with Voldemort himself had always been a bad idea. However, that hadn't stopped Draco Malfoy from doing so.

Three obligations had been set to him in exchange for the valued skill of Divination.

When offered the deal months earlier, it had been a no-brainer. To gain the ability to actually see his enemies and rule out the possible mistake of killing a muggle, Draco had jumped at the offer.

Jump wasn't exactly the word. A guarded "sure" had sealed the deal. For his soul was no longer his own. He hadn't so much sold it to the devil as loaned it.

Marked across the chest with a palpable tally, he had then set to obligation number one.

It had been easy. Almost too easy.

He even had to wonder why he'd lost sleep about making the deal. To merely locate a centaur and present it, seemed to have pleased Voldemort immensely and Draco wasn't stupid enough to question whether or not he had gotten off easy. When Voldemort was happy, Draco could live his life more peacefully.

There remained only two obligations to repay his debt and to see his soul returned.

Right now, he was focusing on the second—another deceptively simple request.

Bent before the cupboard between his refrigerator and the stainless-steel Potion lab table, Draco looked at a six-inch glass vial; his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth.

All week he had gathered ingredients for a Love Potion; A drop of Unicorn's blood and a cat's seventh life being the most difficult to come by. After carefully measuring and brewing, he'd brought the whole batch to a boil and then left it to cool.

Casting a quick Tempus, Draco realized that the Potion had simmered for nearly half an hour. With practiced movements, he hefted the bronze prewett cauldron and poured it into a vial.

A chocolaty smell filled the air and Draco wrinkled his nose. If the scent was anything to go by, then his potion had been more than successful.

He was careful, however, to ensure not a single drop was wasted. Unless the entire contents were consumed, potions could prove less than effective. In this case, six ounces of liquid could either be drunk or spread over the skin like a moisturizer; it wasn't particular, as long as the ingredients were absorbed into the bloodstream.

"A freakin' love potion." He muttered to himself with a roll of his eyes.

Draco could think of any number of situations in which Voldemort would use his expertise in Potion-making but making a love potion was not one of them. In fact, why the Dark Lord even needed such a questionable potion was beyond the blonde's understanding.

Setting the pot back on the cool burner with a clang, he straightened and searched for his wand so that he could cast a statis spell on the tube, until his employer asked for the potion.

Overhead, a jungle of hanging spider plants tendriled down, some tickling his head. Plants gave him vital energy and kept the apartment's balance.

He sighed and shook his head. "This is so not what I should be doing right now."

On the other hand, the occasional dabbling in actual spell craft and mixing kept his skills from fading. And it helped to tilt the balance back in his favor or so he hoped.

Draco Malfoy was a wizard; had been for more than two centuries. Though he had mastered most of the basic spells; the difficult ones still eluded him. Most of it was because he didn't spend much of his time sitting about; brewing up potions or practicing the art of spell casting.

In fact, it was rare when he indulged in his own magic for any purpose other than to ward his home against intruders. Which was why his life was so dangerously imbalanced right now.

A wizard wasn't a real wizard without consistent practice of spell craft.

So where had his focus gone over the years?

Draco had strived to make a mark on the world. As a slayer, Draco's job required him to destroy vampires. The only good a vampire could do was to make a pile of ash.

Out in the living room on the rosewood coffee table, a row of empty shotgun cartridges waited to be injected with his own blood before he went on patrol this evening.

House Gryffindor had been stalking the suburbs, stirring up a pact with the wolves. Draco had nothing against werewolves. They were the Vampire's enemies; not his. Not that he needed a shove to go after anyone that came in between his mission.

However, recently, he had been feeling weak and tired; a sure sign that he had pushed his life balance far to the Dark side.

"I am in the Light." He murmured to himself, though the declaration was absent of all the belief his ancestors had instilled in him since an early age.

Wizards were the Light. Vampires were the Dark. And while they were just terms used by the wizards for centuries, it was the rare wizard who abandoned the light of the craft to surrender his soul to darkness.

And those who did?

In the eighteenth century, after he had mastered the art of slaying, Draco had watched a fellow wizard take revenge against a farmer for raping him, by blighting his crops. That revenge was not so singular as it should have been. The farmer's entire family starved to death that winter. And the wizard, drawn to the Dark by his act of vengeance, continued to wreak havoc against any slight. He became a hag with a grotesque aura all creatures could see and all chose to avoid. Eventually he was consumed by darkness forever.

Since witnessing that fall to darkness, Draco had vowed that he would always strive for balance. While slaying was necessary, it also marked his soul darkly. So, he would always use his magic for good to keep the balance.

Of course, if he didn't practice magic, his balance angled out of whack and that was the last thing that Draco needed when fighting with a bloody vampire.

* * *

**Additional Author's Note:**

This note spans two very different issues:

This is for the reviewer shedano. While I appreciate their comment about how I write my disclaimer and I accept that I stand corrected, that still doesn't reduce the ridiculousness of the fact that they issued a review solely based on this accusation. Not to mention, the hostile tone that the review took on. I mean, do you realize how eagerly a writer wishes to see their work appreciated and how disappointed a bloody flaming review makes them? It was only the disclaimer, for Merlin's sake!

On a different and happier note, today is my birthday. So, consider this chapter your treat. I'll probably post another one today. Yay for double updates.

Thank you for those Followed/Favorited the story. Reviews would be appreciated and even answered, if I get the time.

Let's just say that Voldemort is one sneaky bastard in this tale...


	6. Glitched entrances: The new cliche'

**Author's Note:**

**Main Pairing: **Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy

**Side-Pairings: **Ron Weasley/Hermione Granger, Dean Thomas/Seamus Finnegan (Decreased); More shall be displayed as the fic continues.

**Brief Summary: **Draco Malfoy is a vampire slayer. His sole purpose in life is to kill as many vampires as he can. Since wizard's blood is poisonous to vampires; he has been rather successful. His most recent hunt has eliminated several of the foul creatures; including their leader... or so he thinks. The vampire house leader, Harry Potter, was somehow able to survive and is now stronger than ever. Harry is now out for revenge. He will stop at nothing to kill the grey eyed wizard that almost destroyed him.

**Warnings: **M/M sex, mild violence and Wizard bashing.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter, in all entirety, belongs to the illustrious J.K. Rowling. I own nothing but the plot and make no money from this story. Any similarity with any person/people is simply coincidental.

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CHAPTER 4: The long-awaited meet and greet

The more he thought about it, the more Draco realized that something was deceptively wrong. No task should be this easy; especially not one issued by the Dark Lord himself.

The blonde haired wizard sighed. He had no choice now, either ways. His soul was in Voldemort's possession and nothing, other than completing the _sodding_ tasks, would bring it back to him.

And now having dealt with Voldemort's second job, Draco was growing quite desperate to begin bringing light back to his out-on-loan soul.

Ironically, this was exactly the reason why he'd bargained for the ability of Divination in the first place. The ability of predicting the future was a skill of the Light. He knew that sacrifices had to be made to keep the skill intact but ultimately, it would be for the greater good.

Referring with a glance to the instructions from the dusty old book he had dug up from his trunk, Draco nodded in satisfaction. The potion was nearly complete.

The book had been his godfather's gift to him when he was younger and Draco was glad to find that the notes on the edges had helped him to complete a potion reserved for five days in a mere twenty-four hours.

The potion now had to sit undisturbed for a couple of hours. A courier would arrive at daybreak for the pickup, he was sure. Voldemort had an uncanny ability to find out when he had finished his work. What happened after the potion left his hands did not concern him even if it did give him the chills.

Standing on his tiptoes—though some would label him short, Draco liked to think of himself as average in height for a seventeenth-century man—he carefully placed the vial on top of the refrigerator. His wand was nowhere in sight and he forewent the statis spell. It wasn't as if anyone would move the vial against his wishes, anyhow.

"See you in the morning—" Arms still raised high, Draco averted his attention from the vial suddenly as his senses focused on something nearby.

A non-mortal being was close. He had always felt such a presence as an intuitive clamp tightening his scalp. _Who or what…?_

A discernible wave shuddered through his apartment as if it were a frisson moving the air. He could actually see the air molecules and walls and furniture be displaced in a wavery shiver. His heart dropped two inches.

Draco felt his mouth dry up. It couldn't be what he was suspecting it was.

"My wards are breeched?" The moment the thought entered his mind, the aristocratic wizard scoffed.

_ Impossible._

The entire block was warded to warn him of impending danger. The apartment building was cloaked and set to alarm should an enemy cross the threshold to the first-floor foyer. And if anyone, creature or being, got past all that, the repulse ward he'd set up to span twenty feet about his property should have alerted him like a punch to the gut.

"Something must have glitched then."

_Again, impossible._

Wood creaked. Heavy metal bolts tore from hinges. Someone was at his door; possibly trying to force an entry. That doused Draco out of his surprised haze.

_Weapons._ He thought in a panic. He needed to protect himself.

A loud slam echoed from around the corner of the kitchen. The crash of the front door to the floor made Draco jump at least a mile into the air. Chaotic commotion vibrated throughout the apartment.

Draco spun around to escape but his elbow hit hard against the refrigerator door handle. Before he could register the pain, his grey eyes focused on the precious potion placed on the top. Almost in slow motion, Draco watched as the vial on the top tethered for a single second, before tumbling down on top of his silken strands.

Splattered with an officious rain of chocolate smelling wetness, he scrambled with shaking hands to right the vial but as the potion continued to drip, the wizard swallowed and stared at the mess.

"Screw it!" He muttered under his breath. Draco didn't have time to deal with non-essentials like ruined potions.

Someone—or something—had invaded his home. And his closest weapon was in the artillery closet across the living room. No matter whatever happened, Draco had to get his hands on it.

He took two steps, trying not to let the gripping fear immobilize him. However, before he could make any more progress, he was slammed into a force so substantial that it set him back and thumped his shoulders against the fridge. Again.

When Draco recovered his bearings, he came face to face with a frightening sight. A man stood in his kitchen, blocking his path.

Big and imposing. Dark, so dark. Raven-black hair flowed about his head in a frenzied mess and broad shoulders like a wicked flag warning against cutthroats. Black leather creaked as he fisted his fingers together.

As the droplets of the spell dribbled down his forehead, Draco spat at the liquid. However, his gaze remained captured by the shining emerald eyes of the man. Electricity charged between them; drowning him and making him stare at the handsomely rugged creature.

Within the strange mist in his mind, however, Draco saw the intruder for his truth—a vampire.

His new-found skill helped him with it. Draco could easily distinguish their kind as they wore an aura like glittering rubies shadowed with ash. Indeed, the ability of Divination was valuable. He'd never regret making a deal with the devil.

But that this creature had permeated his wards and stood in his home staring him down as if Draco were his next meal, infuriated him. _How had he entered without verbal permission anyhow?_

A vampire could not cross a private threshold uninvited and if there was a loophole around such a thing, then Draco definitely wanted to know it.

Whatever the glitch that had allowed the dark haired vampire entrance, Draco wasn't about to bemoan his privacy or his safety. He didn't need weapons this time. This one, he could even battle with his hands tied behind his back.

Letting a smirk break across his face, Draco bit the inside of his cheek, tasting the blood and sucking it into his saliva.

The long tooth would be ash in no time.

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**Additional Author's Note:**

Sadly, my amazing plan for double update failed as I was dragged into visiting my grandmother with my mom for a celebratory birthday party. Hope you all forgive me. I promise I shall make it up to you. By the way, some _people_ complained that my chapters are too short. How many of you think so?

Thank you for those Followed/Favorited the story. Reviews would be appreciated and even answered, if I get the time.

So, did you all catch my reference to the fact that Draco is drenched in a (gasp!) Love Potion. I think some of you would probably figure out where I am going with this. ;)


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